


Circle Cross Waves Square Star

by nicht_alles_Gold



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 01:30:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicht_alles_Gold/pseuds/nicht_alles_Gold
Summary: Ocelot is given a psychic test.





	Circle Cross Waves Square Star

Five cards sat on the table in front of him, face up. Circle, cross, squiggles... Adamska didn't know what they were, or what they were for. An officer had told him to come to this room at 7:00, and so he had. He was tired today, as being on base for more than a few weeks made him feel lethargic and bored. Every other day he inquired his superiors, whining sir, sir, sir endlessly, and the response was always “awaiting orders”, and a quick dismissal. Here, his rank meant little to those who really thought they were in charge.

How many times could a man clean his guns in one day? There was target practice, studying world affairs, and other training, but he missed being on assignment. That taste of espionage... it was only months ago, and he needed more.

But today, it was cards, and a one-way mirror in a dingy, hot bungalow.

“We are here to conduct a test,” suddenly crackled through the speakers installed near the door. This voice was new, and Adamska tilted his head as he listened, trying to pinpoint the unfamiliar accent. Learning so many languages had made him interested in the topic (being able to pick out precisely which region his Russian “allies” in the GRU had been from had delighted them) and gave him more information to work with.

This one however... he wasn't sure. Maybe German, neutralized through living in America, but with something else, a Midwestern twang? Perhaps Canada...

“Please focus on the other side of the mirror.” He did as he was instructed. His hair was getting long, he noticed. He'd go to the barber later. He missed his Russian uniform, too; American fatigues were so generic.

“Please,” the voice commanded more than implored, sounding annoyed, “Focus your mind on the other side of the mirror.” He began to say something else, but the speaker cut off.

He cocked an eyebrow at the instructions. Focus his mind... what was this? Why wouldn't they simply tell him what this was for? Perhaps then he could understand what he was supposed to be doing.

He tried. Focus his mind... whatever that was. He was familiar with the practices of meditation, and closed his eyes. He pictured the other room... it probably looked like this one, in reverse. Were the testers in there? Probably. For a second he could picture them, standing and judging. Someone seated, too, facing the glass as he was the mirror...

No, it was just his imagination, and it all evaporated when his eyes opened, and he looked at himself again.

“Which symbol did you see?”

Oh. What? He was supposed to see something?

He hesitated. He didn't want to look stupid and get it wrong, but it would be equally embarrassing to admit he hadn't understood from the beginning. “The square.”

“Please point out the card.” So he lifted a finger, and put it down firmly on the card with a square on it.

There was no response, and he eventually withdrew his hand, and waited. The speaker came to life again. “Please repeat.”

He put his finger down on the square card again.

“No,” was that pity in the voice now, “We have selected a new card, please focus on this room again.”

Quickly, he took his finger away, and tried to ignore the heat creeping into his cheeks. He hated being made a fool of, even if the only person who cared was himself. Whatever this test was, it was obtuse.

Again, he shut his eyes, harder this time, and tried to “focus”. He let himself imagine the room again, men... two, no, three, two in uniform, one civilian, the speaking man. Conducting the test, and logically that made sense, so the vision settled firmly in his mind. He was picking cards...

No, someone else was. His first “vision” was right, and he just... had a feeling. He'd rather rely on empirical evidence, but this was instinct. They were the one picking the cards, most likely, because if the scientist (he didn't know it was a scientist, did he?) did, it would be possible to give him some kind of vocal clue.

This other person... they would pick a card mentally, and keep the symbol to themselves. But what card... how could he see it? Picture it from their mind, he told himself. What had they seen? They looked down at the array of cards but not at any of them specifically, and then back up at him through the glass, his brow furrowed, fingers softly clenching--

And he snapped out of this vision, drawing a sharp breath, once he saw himself. Because no, he hadn't _seen_ through someone else's eyes, for him that was impossible. He was just imagining it, and he could hear his heart pounding in his head. Letting out a frustrated grunt, he jabbed his finger onto the square card, again, just out of aggression.

He knew he was getting irritated too quickly, but being kept in the dark was annoying. He expected a reaction from the other side, but there was nothing.

“Again,” the voice ordered after a moment.

Eyes closed, he breathed out, hard enough to make the cards flutter, and he heard one skittering off the table. “Shit,” he practically whispered. The silence on the other side of the mirror seemed to judge him as he ducked under the table to pull the card back. Squiggly lines. It went back in place, and he looked into his reflection. “Is it a new one now?” he ventured.

“Pick the card,” was the response. This was a different voice; more stern and certain. Military. American. He sounded as frustrated as Adamska was and he felt a pang of vindictiveness knowing it.

He closed his eyes, again searching… imagining. He supplemented his mental image with what he knew for a fact from the voices he heard, but it didn't seem to do much. Now that his emotions were heated, he couldn't even pretend as well, and he stamped his finger on the cross.

“Again.”

Triangle.

“Again.”

Cross. Star. Cross. Square. Squiggly lines. Circle. Circle. Square.

At this point, he wasn't even trying, and just entirely picking at random. What was the point of a guessing game to a highly trained soldier?

If they detected he'd given up, the presumed scientist's voice gave no indication as he repeated directions. Finally, he stopped for an extended period of time. Adamska couldn't help his eyes flicking hopefully over to the door. Soon, he would be directed to leave, and told the reason for this pointless endeavor.

It was silent for minutes, though he did hear the door on the other side open and close twice, and faint footsteps in and out.

“We will be conducting another test.”

(“Great,” Adamska thought.)

“Once again, focus on this room. A light will be turned on and off at random. State whether or not it is on or off as it changes. Do you understand?” At least the scientist still had some hope in his voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Please begin.”

Naturally, he closed his eyes. It was hard to stare at himself in a mirror for so long. His mind wandered briefly… Had other soldiers had to do these tests? He didn't know of anyone who had been called away for this purpose, and rumors spread among the men quickly… how much time had passed anyway? He'd be better served falling asleep and getting in a few extra minutes. In fact, the quiet, warm room was something of an anesthetic now. His mind cleared.

And then lit up.

His eyes opened, startled. “Uh, on,” he stammered, automatically. His heart was beating hard, because it was like he'd _felt_ something, deeply, and what had that been? He tried to just breathe, and reason with himself. It was nothing, he'd probably slumped forward and woken himself up, and the bright light in this room had thrown him off.

The lack of response only reassured him of this conclusion. He didn't close his eyes again, and halfheartedly said “off” and “on” at random intervals. Soon after his last “off”, the speaker crackled to life.

“We've finished the tests for now. Please wait a moment, next I will conduct an interview.” That indiscernible accent was so curious.

Adamska sat up straight. He'd hoped the tests would be over, but an interview was unexpected. This would certainly be the last thing.

The door opened, and a cadet entered with a chair, placing it at the table across from him. He didn't say a word and stepped out. In came another man, in a suit and tie. He had glasses, and no indication of alignment—military, foreign agent, nothing. An entirely plain man. He was so used to judging people it was slightly disconcerting there was nothing to be gained… though he still felt assured this man was a scientist of some description. Not based on appearance, which he hadn't seen before just now, or voice, which wasn't a nasal whinge like a scientist from a movie from his (still somewhat recent) childhood. Even this test was based on no science he knew of.

Yet, he was sure.

“I'm going to ask you some questions. Please answer succinctly, if possible.” His eyes behind the glasses flicked to the side. Whether this was purposeful or not, he didn't know, but Adamska took it as a notice. They were still being monitored. Only one set of footsteps had exited the other room, and had immediately come over here.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever had an out of body experience?”

Thankfully, his reflection was blocked by the scientist's presence, because he wouldn't have liked seeing his surprised, confused expression. “Can you explain, sir?” Really, what was all this? What did that even mean?

The scientist pushed up his glasses. Was he disappointed? Or did he just want him to answer as reflexively as possible? “Typically, it's a moment when you feel a disconnect from your body. Perhaps you will see your own body, or the surroundings from above, as if you were a spirit, and may be able to move around in that state.”

“No, I haven't,” he responded, truthfully, because the things that had just happened were his imagination running wild on him.

“Have you ever sensed anyone's thoughts?”

Adamska's mouth fell open, but he remembered the (surely high leveled) soldier on the other side of the room before he could utter his disbelief. “Like… mind reading?” No response to the ridiculous notion he'd been presented with. “No, I can't say I have.” Again, what just happened didn't count.

“Have you ever spoken or written in a language you haven't learned?”

“I have learned several languages on my own, sir.” Maybe that was a little too sharp of a response, but the scientist continued.

“Have you ever moved anything without touching it?”

“Not to my knowledge, sir.” He kept himself from remarking about how useful that would be in his line of work.

“Have you ever seen anything that could not be explained?”

“To… some degree, yes.” He'd witnessed many things that could not be rationally explained. “I don't have clearance to discuss that mission, though.”

“That's alright.” Now he could definitely detect the disappointment. “Have you ever projected your consciousness elsewhere, purposefully.”

“No, sir.”

“Have you ever caused a fire or similar destruction with mental powers.”

“No, sir.” He couldn't help his lips quirking up into a smirk. Honestly, what did this kind of nonsense have to do with him? These were questions for the permanently disbanded Cobra Unit. He had extraordinary skills through his own effort, and if he was permitted to speak his mind, he would let this man known he was frankly insulted by these questions.

“Anything else unusual you would care to tell me about?”

He shook his head. “Not that I have the clearance to discuss.”

The scientist nodded once. “Thank you.” Adamska didn't get the impression he was very grateful.

The door opened, and a military officer entered. Adamska didn't recognize him, but stood to attention immediately. “You're dismissed, soldier.”

“Yes, sir,” he stated, like always. He stepped out, longing for a new mission where he didn't have to bark like a loyal dog to these high-and-mighty military personnel. The sooner the better, after this disaster.

Rounding the bungalow after saluting a few miscellaneous comrades like a good little soldier, he noticed the high window of the bungalow, which had been shut when he was inside, was now propped open. It struck him as somewhat suspicious, but still, he paused there, straining to hear if anything was being said. He frowned, but then voices began to drift out, and he was careful to silence his footsteps on the dirt, and tried his hardest to look casual. Few soldiers were milling around pointlessly at the time, and none of the rank-and-file would harass him for appearing to take a brief break when he likely outranked them.

“No luck?” That was the mysterious military man.

“I would call this a failure. I believe there's an amount of talent there from what we've heard, but if he can use it, it's unconscious, or he's completely hiding it.” The scientist sounded like a disappointed parent, and Adamska realized how for once, he hadn't hidden anything.

The military man said something quietly.

“No, I don't think you can count on it for any kind of use in an operation.”

Something… “--completely worthless.”

“There is that, but it's a shame. If he had even half of his father's abilities, we'd--”

A jeep drove past, blowing away the words, and, more unfortunately, parking near the bungalow. The driver hopped out and shot him a suspicious look (though really, he was probably trying to see if he was smoking and should be reported on). Considering this might be the ride of the two men inside, plus the other two who had been in the room (again, he felt sure for no reason) Adamska strode away, eyes narrowed as he processed the few snippets of conversation he'd received.

* * *

Through the day, and while he laid in bed at night, staring upwards, he considered what he'd heard.

“Talent.”

“Abilities.”

That mention of his father.

And those people… with what they knew, they were far beyond regular military personnel. How far, he couldn't say, because he hadn't recognized any of them and they had no identification to speak of, so he might not be able to investigate them easily.

Well, not through normal means. He'd find a way to know what they were thinking. And then he'd figure out how to use it to his advantage. Especially if meeting with them was the reason he was delayed here, wasting time, wasting his life, with orders from no one, his unengaged mind turning to formulating.

Whatever they thought of him, he would prove otherwise. Like reading cards through glass and knowing if a light was turned on was anything useful. He smiled to himself as he turned over, until another thing they'd said came to mind.

“Worthless.”

His expression fell. That word did not apply to him, ever. He worked too hard. Anyone thinking he was to be underestimated would regret it, and he could sleep well knowing that.

**Author's Note:**

> I think a lot of people go with the "Ocelot's gotta have some inherited psychic stuff from his dad considering a lot of things and also Liquid" and I'm one of them (maybe it's even canonical-ish?) but I firmly definitely like that he totally does and has no idea so he can't like, use it at all. I've read a decent amount of stuff about psychic tests and shit so I thought I'd write it... probably like, 3 years ago, but I decided to try and finish it now. If I was really cool I would've written something about him interacting with Psycho Mantis too but I'm not cool, feel free to imagine this scenario.


End file.
